


Hydroclaustrojohnophobia

by mklutz



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:24:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mklutz/pseuds/mklutz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hallucinating? How do you explain that, Colonel? I might be willing to forgive you. Just hurry up, rescue me, and then show me the device."</p><p>Sheppard tapped his temple. "Hallucination," he repeated, "You hit your head on impact. Probably concussed." Rodney's fingers sought out the right side of his face and came away sticky and red.</p><p>"Oh. Right." Blinked. "That would explain the outfit."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"This little keyboard is killing me." Talking helped. Talking absolutely helped. "It's all starting to blur together." Except when his mouth and his brain were on completely different paths. "I need a new set of eyes!"

"Alright, let me take a look."

"Did I just uh...?" Last time Rodney had checked, he'd been alone in the rear compartment of a rapidly sinking 'Jumper, the front compartment flooded, a very large, very scary sea monster circling outside in the ice-cold freezing water and a limited amount of time, power and sanity. Keyword: Alone.

"Sure did."

There, standing innocuously in the corner however, against all laws of probability, was Colonel John Sheppard. 

"Colonel...?"

The Colonel grinned. "Stay cool, McKay. We'll get you out of here." Rodney took a moment-- long for a genius maybe, but very short for anyone else -- to review the last few hours. Trip to the mainland with one pilot, check. Return trip, check. Pointless, aggravating conversation about his place in history, check. Said pilot inexplicably sacrificing his life to save Rodney's, check.

At no point during the day had Sheppard gotten onto the 'Jumper. The space was a bit cramped-- Rodney would have noticed.

"How did you, how-how are you--?"

"Come on, Rodney, you know better than that!" Sheppard rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall, all casual grace and mussed, bed-head hair. 

"Oh." Suddenly, it made sense. "I've lost it. I've completely lost it." Sinking down onto the bench and ignoring a very pointed eye-roll, Rodney let his mouth keep him sane. "You are not real. You are not real, not real--"

"Way to state the obvious there."

"I'm sorry?"

"Well come on, if anyone's going to rescue you, it's going to be me, but I'm in Atlantis right now working on that."

"So this is---some kind of new Ancient device that lets you project an image of yourself? Mind-control distance-avatar-hollogram program?" He took half a breath, "And you didn't tell me about it?! When did you find it?! How does it work? Does it run off that subsystem we found in--"

"McKay."

Rodney sucked in another sharp breath.

"You've got a nasty head wound there. There is no mind-control distance-avatar-hollogram program." He paused, looked sexily thoughtful. "That we know of. You're hallucinating."

"Hallucinating? How do you explain that, Colonel? I might be willing to forgive you. Just hurry up, rescue me, and then show me the device."

Sheppard tapped his temple. "Hallucination," he repeated, "You hit your head on impact. Probably concussed." Rodney's fingers sought out the right side of his face and came away sticky and red.

"Oh. Right." Blinked. "That would explain the outfit." 

John looked down with that slight, seductive smile paired with lowered lashes that had gotten Rodney's heart beating a little quicker than was recommended on several occassions. Not. No, no, he'd never lusted after John Sheppard. Certainly not. "Yeah, I'd have thought this would have tipped you off right away that it wasn't a hollogram device." 

No shirt, not shivering, the loose pants he sometimes wore when jogging or training. And Rodney absolutely wasn't following the trail down his chest into those same loose, soft pants.

"Yes, well, you might have been... busy. Rushed down to try and save me without taking the time to change."

Raising his eyes, Sheppard smirked just a bit. "These pants are a bit tighter than my usual pair, Rodney." And they were. Not that Rodney knew how tight John's pants were. Ever. "Way I see it, you wanted someone smart down here to bounce ideas off of. Someone good in a life-or-death situation, incredibly smart...sexy."

"I could have had Sam Carter," Rodney snorted, leaning back and crossing his arms defensively.

"Not nearly as attractive."

"I have a very well-known thing for smart, blonde, female Astrophysicists!"

"And yet," and this imaginary John was just as aggravating as the real thing, "here I am."

"It's your escape from certain death skills that come to mind, Colonel, not your imaginary physical assets!" Imaginary John stepped smoothly across the small space of the rear compartment to lean close over Rodney, dangerously post-coital hair dropping down over his forehead, wet (maybe slightly tighter than usual) pants clinging to the lower half of his legs.

"Still dressed like this, McKay. Still looking like some kind of sexual fantasy. Now do you want my help, or should I just--?" He motioned maddeningly to the walls as if he could just step through them and disappear. Which he probably could, since he wasn't real.

Rodney breathed out once, deeply. "Maybe-- and let's not set a precedent for this or anything, because we all know who the brains behind this expedition is -- maybe I could use some minor assistance."

"Great. I'll try not to feel like a pool boy."

Rodney glared. Even in his imagination, John was a pain.

 

 

"Have you tried thinking at her really hard?"

"Yes, I've tried-- is that the technical term? And did you just call the 'Jumper a her?"

John shrugged neatly, his every motion excessively attractive. Rodney was starting to hate himself. "Sure, why not?"

"That's moronic. I can't believe you're--"

"Except that I'm just a construct of your brain, so I guess, Rodney, that you just called the 'Jumper a her." 

His jaw snapped shut. "I hate you."

"Aw, and here I thought we were really starting to get along."

"No, really, I hate you. Just--- just shut up unless you have something helpful to say."

"You do realize that you're essentially arguing with yourself here, right?" He sounded flippant, but even as a hallucination, John looked worried about his well-fare. It was an expression he knew well from planets full of angry, primitive people who didn't like them that much. Minus the women, of course, who took every opportunity they could to worm their way into John's pants.

Which really only served to further anger the local men. Rodney would have to mention that when he got back. And then it hit him. "Oh! Oh! If I'm hallucinating you--! I'm unconscious and in the infirmary, aren't I? You've already rescued me and this is a dream induced by stress, hypothermia and the head wound!" Relief flooded over him and he sunk back onto the bench, setting aside the interface. "Oh, thank god." 

"Go ahead then, Rodney." John looked half amused, half worried. "Slap yourself, wake up." And Rodney, proving that he really did have a head wound that was definitely affecting his judgement and reasoning, followed orders.

"Ow!" The sting of his own hand against a pretty serious injury, and then the even harsher sting of a blow to his self esteem and his chances of getting out alive.

"You're in a sinking 'Jumper. You have a little over two and a half hours of power left, which should be enough time for me to come up with some dangerous but very exciting rescue plan where I coincidentally get to try flying a 'Jumper underwater." He looked like he was going to say more, but Rodney interrupted.

"Oh my god. You sabotaged this one so you could test our theory?! You could have just told me you wanted to do the test run!"

"Rodney. You're in some serious trouble here."

"I know that!"

"So let's get back to work."

 

"Now. Given that I have a limited amount of time to execute my plan before power levels drop too low, but provided that the--the---uh, coding--" The cold, the dizziness, and the headache were really starting to sink in. Bad choice of words. Were starting to hit him. "--is correct, we surface, and at that point, y-you should be able to pick up our radio signal and... come pick me up." Also, John was pressed distractingly against his side, all warm and shirtless and totally calm. Rodney could half believe that if he really were here, it would be almost the same, minus the shirtlessness and the pressing-up-against-himness. Sheppard was a bit of a bastard like that.

"Okay. How much power would that kill?"

"Uh, I dunno...most of it?" John shook his head.

"Scrap it then."

"Why?"

"Because, Rodney, if it doesn't work, then you're dead and I can't find you."

"What are you talking about? If you were me, you'd do it in a heart-beat!"

"No I wouldn't. Because I'd know you were coming to get me and I'd need to conserve power and stay alive long enough for you to do your thing."

"Hello? Biggest brain in Atlantis, trapped under a lot of water in a confined space with a head wound, hallucinating and unable to contact the city? There is no me to save me!" Rodney thought about Zelenka and his great ideas but sometimes sloppy math. About Kavanaugh and his terrible ideas and decent math. About the rest of his staff and the happy dances they would be doing until they realized that they needed him to defeat the Wraith.

"No. But there's me." 

And John. John with his dangerous ideas that somehow always worked, and his amazing math that also somehow always worked, and his damned, irrepressible luck. 

"Oh."

 

He sat and rocked back and forth and tried to conserve heat and energy for about five minutes before getting back to work. "Look it's-- it's not that I don't have every faith in you, Colonel-- I mean, I put you here, right? -- but I've got to at least set this up so that, you know, if someone else happens to screw up some part of your brilliant plan, I've got a back up."

"Rodney."

"Look, I'm not saying I'm going to use it, just that it can't hurt!"

"Okay, fine, but if you didn't notice that little..." he trailed off shrugged, and stepped back, away from Rodney and the interface. 

"What? That little what?" Was he so far gone that he was missing basic functions of his power-mapping? A slip of a decimal place? John slipped his thumbs into his front pockets, making his arms and shoulders look just that much better and slouched a little. "Seriously. If--if you saw something, just--just tell me."

Silence. That blank look that, like so many other expressions of Sheppard's, Rodney was only too familiar with.

"You're messing with me!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he drawled, grinning a little. 

"You're trying to slow me down! Even my own hallucination is against me! Look, if you're not going to help, then you can just--! Ow!" The 'Jumper shook, jolted, and Rodney's too-tender head met the floor again. The sound from outside was like every bad sound-effect in every bad And Then They Met Some Horrible Danger Under The Sea and Died movie that Rodney had ever seen; a long creaking groan, the sound of metal and rock and so much water pressure that Rodney was just glad these things were built for travel in the vacuum of space. "What now, huh?!"

Silence. 

"Feels like we hit the bottom."

"Oh really? Well... this is good! This is very good! The chances of us imploding are much slimmer!"

"Don't count your chickens before they've--"

"No, no, no, no, no! Can I not at least take a moment to enjoy the one bit of good luck I've had all day?!" And he kind of knew that he was freaking out and screaming at a product of his imagination but it was a bad day. A very, very bad day, even by Atlantis standards. 

"Rodney."

"You're not helping! You shoot down the one viable idea I've had all day, you're distracting me with your---your little sexual mind games here! You claim to be a product of my mind and yet you are in no way spewing out theories or math or anything remotely helpful--!"

"I thought being dressed like this was enough to clue you in, McKay." Then he paused and nodded his head at the seam of the hull and doors. "Look."

Water was seeping in. Fast.

 

By fast he meant, "similar to the rate at which previously this 'Jumper was sinking" fast. Fast meant that in a shock-inducing, "if-I-wasn't-already-hyperventilating-and-concussed-I-would-start-now" short time, the water was deep enough that he could dive under it to poke and prod methodically at the control panels in the base of the seats. 

He was glad the Ancients had made such good use of space in the 'Jumper. His claustrophobia was really starting to kick in, right alongside that fear of drowning. Combine the two and Rodney had just met what could be months of therapy with Heightmeyer.

Too bad he wouldn't be alive to arrange more billable hours for her.

"It's funny, you know, I was just thinking, 'What would complete this experience?'. Freezing cold water in the compartment. Lots and lots of it, because now that the whole imploding thing is kind of off the table, drowning should really be brought back into the equation."

"Rodney, you can fix this. I know you can."

"There are micro-fractures all along the seam!" John took a deep breath, one Rodney would have begrudged him if it hadn't been imaginary. Power drain on life-support and all.

"We still have life support, right?"

"Yes." He tried pulling his hands up into his sleeves, but they were soaked in all of that freezing cold water he was so happy about and only made him shiver more.

"So we create a positive pressure environment. Slow the leak. Buy me some time to come get you." 

"In order to draw out my death as much as I can? Make it just that much more painful?"

"Rodney, trust me. We'll get you out of here." And maybe John wasn't an Astrophysicist, but this John was the product of Rodney's subconscious; the best of both worlds.

"Alright." It was easy, compared to everything else he'd tried so far. 

"You might want to heat the water up, too."

"We make a good team," Rodney said, trying to steady his shivering fingers on the too-tiny touch-pad. That was another thing he'd have to bring up if he ever made it out alive. "You and I."

Sheppard grinned. "Yeah. We do."

"Of course, it's partly because all of your ideas are really my ideas."

"What?"

"Well, you're a product of my over-active, stressed out, hypothermic imagination. So every idea you have is really mine." He paused a moment, looking up from the display. "Oh, wow. I'm having an argument with myself over who had an idea first-- me or me."

"Yeah, well, colour me surprised."

"I'm sorry," slipped out before he could stop it, but then he figured, this wasn't real, or at least, John wasn't, so it was okay to get this out, "I really am. You're smart. Not as smart as me, of course, but still, impressive scores in Prime, Not-Prime, great piloting skills. Nice touch with the Ancient technology."

John's mouth quirked on one side. "I'll take that as a compliment."

'Well, uh... good. And...here we go." Plugged his noise and closed his eyes because---because he was under water and it was a little like adjusting your internal pressure when a plane took off and nothing like it and-- it was done. A quick glance at the displays. "And the leaking... has been slowed. Well done, Colonel!"

"Well thank you, Rodney."

"Come'ere!" Sheppard was warm and his back smooth and strong under Rodney's shaking hands. He didn't smell like anything, but Rodney didn't think he'd be able to smell anything anyway, his nose stuffed up from the cold. He didn't want to let go. 

"You uh, you know I'm not really here, right?"

Rodney pulled back and looked at the remarkably real but not-real Sheppard. "Oh."

"Look, if-- when I get you out of here, I promise you can have all the hugs you want. For real."

"That doesn't really mean anything. You're my subconscious. We've had this discussion." How bad was his concussion, if he could squeeze hard at nothing and feel the details of Sheppard's skin, Sheppard's stubble pressed against his cheek?

"Best of both worlds, Rodney," John said, his voice quiet, "Surely a genius can hallucinate a me that acts within the realm of probability."

"I am not coming out to a figment of my imagination!"

"Who said anything about coming out? Though if you were thinking about it, I'm probably a good place to start."

"You did, with your naked and your warm and your being all---all--!"

"Attractive?"

"I'd say mind-numblingly, but my brain was in that state before you decided to drop in!" John smiled slowly, but a little sadly. 

"Look, you should know by now that you can tell me-- the real me-- anything. Anything at all. But right now you've gotta stay warm and alive so I can come rescue you."

Rodney squished back onto the bench and three centimetres of water swirling around his thighs. "Even in my head you've got some sort of saviour complex."

 

 

"You're not still trying to control the 'Jumper from that little thing, are you?"

"Would you shut up? I know you think you have all the answers but, surprise! Number one genius in two galaxies working here!"

"With a serious head injury." As if he hadn't said the same thing a hundred times already.

"Yes, with a serious head injury. If I wasn't concussed, maybe I would have imagined you a little more physically available instead of just half-naked." Which, honestly, not the best thing to think about when he was trying to finish the set up before the power levels were too low for him to work with.

John ducked under the water and came up dripping, hair plastered to his head and warm water rolling off his skin a fraction away from Rodney. So close, he could feel him. Feel his hand now creeping up his chest from behind and beside, smooth and slow and steady. "I-- I'm almost done here, what are you doing?"

"Being physically available." As if that were the most obvious thing in the world, and he turned Rodney to face him, pressing up against him. 

"Oh my god, your pants are gone."

"Yep." And damn if the man didn't look proud of that little fact. The lights from the control crystals under the water, the height meant that it wasn't hard to see that there was nothing but skin down there, though the motions blurred all details. Damn his subcon--

"You're not real. You're not really here."

"Doesn't mean I'm not available."

"Oh, oh god." Warm, hard, smooth, close, steady, sharp, pressing against him and Rodney thought for a short moment that he'd forgotten all about words like claustrophobia before it hit him.

"You're trying to distract me again. Slow me down. You don't want me to do this." If he'd been sinking before, it made no sense that just now his heart sunk because an imaginary John Sheppard was seducing him with ulterior motives. 

John leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Rodney's lips, then a sharp one, biting at his bottom lip, tugging it forward and running his tongue across it after. Rodney pulled back.

"You're not real. Even my own hallucination of you only resorts to this for reasons wholly unrelated to unresolved sexual tension."

"I'm pretty sure I was just trying to resolve that."

"No. No, you were trying to delay me so that I wouldn't have enough power left to get this to work." Suddenly, the pants were back and John was arms-length away.

"You've banged your head, you're not thinking straight. You're going to make a mistake, McKay. Just wait it out. Wait for me to get here."

"No, I should have been ignoring you from the beginning. You're counter-productive."

"We're on our way. I'm on my way. I'm going to get you out of here."

"La-lala-la-la~" It might have worked better if his shivering wasn't making even his childish play at ignoring his own brain stutter. 

"Rodney, that's an order!"

"From an imaginary Colonel!"

"Give me a chance!"

"Too late. It's ready, no time to argue." 

"This is a mistake."

"Letting my brain get away with this when I could have been imagining Sam Carter was a mistake. I trust you'll be--" and he giggled a little (Giggled! Clearly concussed and in shock.), "gone when I reach the surface?" Sheppard had the gall to look hurt.

The press of a button, the lights coming back on, the hum of ancient power at Rodney's shaking fingertips. 

And then darkness, silence again.

"Oh."

 

The water was so high now that he was floating, head just shy of the ceiling and cooling water again lapping at his chin. The sea monster was back, circling, groaning.

"What? What do you want from me? Just, j-just-- go away!" Sheppard swam over to him, floating, hair still pressed flat to his head. "I think he's just...just waiting to eat me.

"I treated him pretty bad."

"Nessie?"

"No, Griffin. I changed the subject. You of all people should be able to keep up."

"Oh. Right."

"He knew we were both gonna die if he didn't do anything, so...he... I don't know why I didn't think of it first. ...Maybe I did."

John was silent, staring down at his hands in the water, strange coloured from the light and the dark and the water.

"He was a brave man," Rodney added. "And I... It just doesn't seem right, you know?" More silence. "It's been a bad day."

"We're gonna get out of this. Trust me."

"I don't think I'd even believe that if you were naked again." Closed his eyes. Peeked again. Damn. "Huh. Oh well." He was so tired, so cold. Tired of having to keep his head above the water.

"McKay, snap out of it."

"My plan was stupid. What the hell was I thinking?" This was usually when Sheppard said something witty and sharp and comforting, made some kind of pun or pop-culture reference and got a smile out of Rodney, even in the worst situation. He didn't say anything this time. "So much for the best of both worlds." Rodney's breath was coming faster. "You were right. Should have listened to you. I've always admired you, wanted to be like you. Wanted you."

"I know."

"No, not--not really, you don't. The you that's me knows, but the other you-- he'll never know. I never told him."

"Rodney?" That hadn't come from half-naked Sheppard. That had come from his radio. 

"Sheppard!"

"Hey, buddy! What say you lower your door?"

"That's probably a bad idea."

"Listen. Long story short, we converted the cloak into a shield and extended it around your 'Jumper. I'm standing outside right now." There was a sharp knock at the door. 

"What?!"

"All you have to do is open your door and walk to my 'Jumper." Imaginary John was grinning openly across from Rodney.

"I told you I'd come for you."

"You and your damn arrogance," Rodney muttered.

"What?" Real Sheppard asked over the radio.

"Nothing! Nothing. Just uh.. hold on." What if this wasn't real? What if this Sheppard was a hallucination, just like the first one? "John!"

"Yeah?"

"What are you wearing?"

"What? Rodney, just open the damn door!"

"Humour me! What are you wearing?"

"My uniform, what do you think, I came from the shower or something? Hurry up and open the door!"

"Right, right..."

 

The scary thing was, it didn't look like the pictures of the Loch Ness Monster Rodney had seen during his time in Scotland. It looked a lot like the dinosaur skeleton that had recently been dug up and cg-modelled on earth; the great behemoth that Paleontologists believed had first killed off large numbers of the other and, by comparison, much smaller dinosaurs and then killed each other. Bigger than anything Rodney had ever seen before in his life, and terrifyingly close as he half-walked and was half-carried by Zelenka and Real Sheppard under the shield between the two 'Jumpers.

"Augh. Hey, pal. Sorry, you won't get to eat me today."

"He's the reason we found you," Real Sheppard said, and Rodney knew it was Real Sheppard because he smelled good and he was a little bit cold and he really was wearing his uniform. 

"Really?" There were other words exchanged, but Rodney found himself staring out the back of the second 'Jumper at the half-naked, soaking wet John leaning against the doorway of the first. He smiled slowly, his eyes different from how Rodney would expect his hallucination's to look.

It was possible, Rodney realized as the door lifted closed and they returned to the surface, to say Goodbye and Hello and I'll Miss You all in one breath without saying a word; to have your heart sink and lift at the same time and to feel the death of someone who had never really existed.


	2. Fear Mongering

In the third grade, Rodney hated the unit on growing beans so much that he created a memory block in his brain. At this point, he had already spent one summer jumping from Psychologist's office to Psychologist's office being tested (first for a learning disability and very quickly after that for the limits of his genius), so he wasn't exactly surprised.

"Really. He can't remember anything about the phases of the growth of beans. It's quite interesting."

Not really. But it was convenient, and Rodney liked conveniently forgetting things.

 

"Rodney! How--" are you feeling? was the way the sentence was supposed to end.

"W00t," Rodney cut him off monotonously, "My boyfriend is back." And stalked off to the labs. That was the most John had seen of Rodney for three days after the accident with the 'Jumper. It worked.

 

John on the other hand liked conveniently remembering things. So once in awhile, when Rodney was halfway across the city freaking out or possibly dying or under threat of dying, John would tap his radio and ask, "What are you wearing?"

Inconveniently, Rodney apparently didn't remember much from the time he'd spent underwater, and had at first yelled at him to hurry up and just save him already, and later made dry remarks about John being happy to see him.

Well, yeah. He was.

 

"Oh my god, it really does exist!" John looked up from his Jello to see Rodney standing in the middle of the mess hall. Well, sort of Rodney. Something seemed off about it.

"McKay?"

"The mind-control distance-avatar-hollogram program! But it doesn't run off that subsystem, it runs off of--" A slight flicker along the edge of his sleeve, a tiny jump in the line of his throat that looked more digital than flesh and blood.

"Where are you?"

"In the lab, Colonel. Obviously." The not-Rodney in front of him paused. "Or--ha! Well, of course you wouldn't know! It must really look like I'm right there with you! Brilliant, it's brilliant. I wonder how they--"

"Okay, I'm coming by the lab. I have got to try this thing." It looked cool.

"No!"

"No?"

"You've already had your shot at--" Rodney stopped mid-sentence, snapped his jaw shut. "Never mind. Uh... just...never mind. You can try it later. With ...with Zelenka. Right." And the image suddenly cut off.

 

Among Rodney's many fears, his most surprising, at least to other people, would probably be the one where people kept dying for him. It had happened at least three times so far, and each time he felt first shock, then deep guilt, and then searched desperately for something to do to validate his survival. It's not so much the other people dying for him that gets Rodney, it's the not living up to it.

Rodney desperately wants to be worthy.

 

John eventually did get to try the hologram device, exactly as Rodney had said. With Zelenka. He'd even come by at a time when Rodney was almost always in the lab, but instead he had found Zelenka waiting for him. Not that Zelenka wasn't a great guy or anything-- he was awesome, really solid -- but he'd wanted to try it with Rodney. 

And then, the shit had hit the fan. One minute John had been standing, hands pressed into the depressions of the device, leaning forward on the stool to focus, and the next he was inside a 'Jumper. Dark, cool-- too cool, he realized quickly, and then suddenly room temperature again, and the doors were closed on both ends. 

Rodney had his back to him, hands entangled in wire and crystal and--and blood. There was a sharp line of blood down his right temple, fading out at the edges where sweat had worked at the clotted stream.

The exact location of the wound Rodney had come away with not long ago from an accident with a crashed 'Jumper sinking in the ocean surrounding Atlantis. 

And John? John wasn't wearing much.

"I need a new set of eyes!"

"Alright, let me take a look." It seemed only natural to offer to help. He'd spent a lot of time with Rodney in the labs, poking things, switching devices on and off and learning their functions, occasionally checking numbers or tweaking things. He'd done this before.

Except that this time was... a previous time, and he wasn't really here. There. So maybe they'd been a little wrong about what the hologram device did. McKay mouthed jumbled words about going crazy, about how John isn't real.

The response is instant. "Way to state the obvious there."

"I'm sorry?" Calm him down. Get him back on track. "Well come on, if anyone's--" it took him a minute not to say that this had all already happened-- "going to rescue you, it's going to be me" and Zelenka, "but I'm in Atlantis right now working on that." Half-truths. But it was probably not really a time-machine. Probably.

"So this is-- some kind of new Ancient device that lets you project an image of yourself? Mind-control distance-avatar-hologram program? And you didn't tell me about it?! When did you find it?! How does it work? Does it run off that subsystem we found in--"

"McKay." It was almost scary how instantly, ridiculously right he was. And how obviously messed up. His breathing was rapid and irregular, his head still bleeding sluggishly, his face flushed. He was shivering, breathing hard. John hadn't known before that it was this bad this early on. He'd thought that Rodney had gotten worse from floating in the water, panicking, thinking about drowning. He'd underestimated the severity of the concussion.

"You've got a nasty head wound there. There is no mind-control distance-avatar-hollogram program." John paused; that was too much of an outright lie. "That we know of. You're hallucinating." Kind of. A hologram beamed directly into your brain was a kind of hallucination. It certainly wasn't completely real.

John tapped his temple. "Hallucination," he repeated, "You hit your head on impact. Probably concussed." Rodney looked almost surprised at that, fingering his temple, fingers coming away sticky and red again.

"Oh. Right." The look he gave John was slow, slower than John was used to. "That would explain the outfit." 

Nothing, John thought, could explain this outfit. Whether it was something from his brain, or Rodney's, or the machine, he had no idea. He certainly had been dressed differently in the lab than he was here in the sinking 'Jumper-- shirtless, and quite possibly going commando under an usually tight pair of his standard work-out pants. They were wet below the knees, like he had waded through something to get there. Time.

He shifted uncomfortably before answering. "Yeah, I'd have thought this would have tipped you off right away that it wasn't a hologram device." Press the advantage.

"Yes, well, you might have been... busy. Rushed down to try and save me without taking the time to change."

He couldn't resist grinning a little (just a little!). "These pants are a bit tighter than my usual, Rodney. Way I see it, you wanted someone smart down here to bounce ideas off of. Someone good in a life-or-death situation, incredibly smart...sexy." Go with it. The best way to get Rodney though this was to convince him that he really was a hallucination. Something rationally irrational that could be waved off afterwards, conveniently forgotten.

"I could have had Sam Carter," Rodney snorted, leaning back and crossing his arms defensively.

"Not nearly as attractive."

"I have a very well-known thing for smart, blonde, female Astrophysicists!"

"And yet," John felt one corner of his mouth lifting, "here I am."

"It's your escape from certain death skills that come to mind, Colonel, not your imaginary physical assets!" Maybe not in Rodney's mind, but if the machine had pulled something from John's mind that it thought would help Rodney through this, or maybe that John had on some level thought would help...

For a long second, John seriously considered talking to Heightmeyer when he got back.

Instead, he crossed the 'Jumper to stand, imaginary, just inside Rodney's personal space. "Still dressed like this, McKay. Still looking like some kind of sexual fantasy. Now do you want my help, or should I just--?" He motioned maddeningly to the walls as if he could just step through them and disappear. Which he probably could, since he wasn't real. Which wasn't something he particularly wanted to think about. In for a penny...

Rodney breathed out once, deeply. "Maybe-- and let's not set a precedent for this or anything, because we all know who the brains behind this expedition is -- maybe I could use some minor assistance." And there he was again, the Rodney John was familiar with. He smiled, relaxing a little.

"Great. I'll try not to feel like a pool boy." Just like old times.

 

What solutions could John get Rodney to try that wouldn't waste too much power or shift the 'Jumper before Real John would get there? His ideas would have to keep Rodney lucid and awake, but not too focused on escape. A fine line, and John had never been as good at negotiations and diplomacy as Elizabeth. He preferred to see how far he could get on smiles and an easy attitude, most of the time. Make them underestimate him.

Underestimate. "Have you tried thinking at her really hard?"

"Yes, I've tried-- is that the technical term? And did you just call the 'Jumper a her?" John shrugged in just the way he knew pissed Rodney off when he was playing dumb. 

"Sure. Why not?"

"That's moronic. I can't believe you're--"

You're not going to have to. I'm not really here. "Except that I'm just a construct of your brain, so I guess, Rodney, that you just called the 'Jumper a her." Ah, there was that look he knew so well, Rodney biting back something terrible and giving John a good, solid glare like he'd just found a Unified Theory by accident while goofing off in the mess or something.

"I hate you."

"Aw, and here I thought we were really starting to get along."

"No, really, I hate you. Just--- just shut up unless you have something helpful to say."

"You do realize that you're essentially arguing with yourself here, right?" Be maddening, be imaginary. It wasn't the first time John had done his best to not be real. 

Except that suddenly, Rodney's face cleared and he looked excited. "Oh! Oh! If I'm hallucinating you--! I'm unconscious and in the infirmary, aren't I? You've already rescued me and this is a dream induced by stress, hypothermia and the head wound! Oh, thank god." Setting back onto the bench and relaxing were good ideas. Thinking this was all a dream and then maybe falling asleep was probably a bad one. Would he be physically capable of keeping Rodney awake if he couldn't verbally?

He felt cold, slow. "Go ahead then, Rodney." Cruel. "Slap yourself, wake up."

Felt worse, even, when Rodney did. "Ow!" Colder, slower, crueller still at the look of hurt that crossed Rodney's face. Did he feel this bad about Rodney being upset normally? 

"You're in a sinking 'Jumper. You have a little over two and a half hours of power left, which should be enough time for me to come up with some dangerous but very exciting rescue plan where I coincidentally get to try flying a 'Jumper underwater." All of which was true and carefully calculated to give Rodney some reassurance, wipe that look off his face, and keep him out of trouble. 

"Oh my god. You sabotaged this one so you could test our theory?! You could have just told me you wanted to do the test run!" If he'd gone on the test run, he'd probably be dead in the cockpit, or sucked out through the broken glass and washed away in the current. He would never have touched the hologram device, never found out if Rodney made it okay.

"Rodney. You're in some serious trouble here."

"I know that!"

"So let's get back to work." 

 

Rodney's plan was dangerous, crazy and had all the hallmarks of something that might just have worked, except that John already knew it wouldn't. If it had worked, Rodney wouldn't have walked through an air-bubble created by the improbable shield, leaning between Zelenka and John. John wouldn't have rescued him because Rodney would have rescued himself. 

The question was, what were the inherent flaws? "Okay. How much power would that kill?"

"Uh, I dunno...most of it?" John shook his head from where he sat, pressed against Rodney's side. He seemed to have some level of physical interaction at least-- he could feel it, but Rodney was giving no indication that he could.

"Scrap it then."

"Why?"

"Because, Rodney, if it doesn't work, then you're dead and I can't find you."

"What are you talking about? If you were me, you'd do it in a heart-beat!"

"No I wouldn't. Because I'd know you were coming to get me and I'd need to conserve power and stay alive long enough for you do do your thing."

"Hello? Biggest brain in Atlantis, trapped under a lot of water in a confined space with a head wound, hallucinating and unable to contact the city? There is no me to save me!" He looked hopeless and deranged and John felt his hands clench. 

"No. But there's me." There is me. I am on my way. I am here. Sort of. Maybe. Unless this was his own hallucination. Not the time to be having doubts.

"Oh."

It never failed to surprise John how often he managed to sell people on that. He'd been trying to sell it to himself for years.

 

 

It didn't last long. Rodney had wobbled in his seat for a few, good minutes while John measured his temperature by the contact of his arm and leg against Rodney's before he got up and went right back to work. "Look it's-- it's not that I don't have every faith in you, Colonel-- I mean, I put you here, right? --" Not really. "but I've got to at least set this up so that, you know, if someone else happens to screw up some part of your brilliant plan, I've got a back up."

"Rodney."

"Look, I'm not saying I'm going to use it, just that it can't hurt!" 'Can't hurt' was McKay language for I'm creating the backup plan that is really Plan A and I will instigate it the second your back is turned in order to save us all.

"Okay, fine, but if you didn't notice that little..." he trailed off shrugged, and stepped back, away from Rodney and the interface.

"What? That little what?" His head swivelled between the interface and John, his fingers raised hesitantly once towards his temple before dropping back down. John's ribs hurt. He slouched, angry at himself, relieved. "Seriously. If--if you saw something, just--just tell me."

You're not missing anything.

"You're messing with me!" Crap. Crapcrapcrap.

"I don't know what you're talking about," And really, John had no reason to feel giddy that Rodney had caught on to his trick, not when it was life and death, but-- this was a favourite game for the two of them, and it always made John smile.

"You're trying to slow me down! Even my own hallucination is against me! Look, if you're not going to help, then you can just--! Ow!"

John couldn't feel the jolt, the tilt and crash of the 'Jumper. His feet were on solid ground back in Atlantis, and his balance didn't leave him for a second. He did, however, hear the slow grind of metal on rock, the keening sound of ship forcefully meeting something it shouldn't. 

"What now, huh?!"

"Feels--" wrong word "--like we hit the bottom." Which meant all sorts of good and bad things. Good, because that was where he and Zelenka had found -- would find -- Rodney. Bad, because when they had, the 'Jumper had been full to bursting with water. How long how long how long how long---?

"Oh really? Well... this is good! This is very good! The chances of us imploding are much slimmer!"

"Don't count your chickens before they've--"

"No, no, no, no, no! Can I not at least take a moment to enjoy the one bit of good luck I've had all day?!" Sometimes, Rodney needed to freak out a little in order to get somewhere. This was definitely not one of those times.

"Rodney." Small fractures, just like Rodney had mentioned in his late de-briefing, forming all along the hull.

"You're not helping! You shoot down the one viable idea I've had all day, you're distracting me with your---your little sexual mind games here! You claim to be a product of my mind and yet you are in no way spewing out theories or math or anything remotely helpful--!"

"I thought being dressed like this was enough to clue you in, McKay." The water was rushing in, fast.

 

The strange thing was that John felt a sudden, irrational fear of drowning in the instant that he realized just how many fractures there were and how bad they were. It was one thing to hear Rodney walk them step-by-step through what had happened, what he had done, what options had been available. It was entirely another to be there, witnessing it first hand. Even if he wasn't physically there-- probably -- it was terrifying. 

"It's funny, you know," Rodney started, his voice hitching with hysteria, "I was just thinking, 'What would complete this experience?'. Freezing cold water in the compartment. Lots and lots of it, because now that the whole imploding thing is kind of off the table, drowning should really be brought back into the equation."

"Rodney, you can fix this. I know you can." He knew that for an absolute fact. John just had to remember what Rodney had tried the first--- this? -- time.

"There are micro-fractures all along the seam!" Which, thank you, John had been trying to put out of his mind so he could think. He breathed deeply, once, before he remembered. 

"We still have life support, right?" Oops, 'we'. 

"Yes." Rodney was shivering, hitching his hands into his sleeves and then out of them, skin paling quickly. 

"So we create a positive pressure environment. Slow the leak. Buy me some time to come get you."

"In order to draw out my death as much as I can? Make it just that much more painful?"

"Rodney, trust me. We'll get you out of here." He just had to survive long enough.

"Alright."

"You might want to heat the water up, too." John wasn't feeling the cold, but Rodney certainly was, and he'd had a mild case of hypothermia on top of everything else when he'd finally made it back to Atlantis and the infirmary. Carson's list of symptoms and conditions marched through his head, accent and all.

"We make a good team," Rodney said suddenly, "You and I." Maybe John wasn't feeling the cold, but he melted a little, and felt silly for it.

"Yeah. We do."

"Of course, it's partly because all of your ideas are really my ideas."

"What?" Technically true, at least in this instance, and very, very Rodney. Petty, arrogant, bad with people. One of John's favourite people. 

"Well, you're a product of my over-active, stressed out, hypothermic imagination. So every idea you have is really mine." He paused a moment, looking up from the display. "Oh, wow. I'm having an argument with myself over who had an idea first-- me or me."

But then, if John was only remembering Rodney's ideas from the de-briefing, and Rodney was only getting them from John who had gotten them from Rodney-- whose ideas were they really? "Yeah, well, colour me surprised."

"I'm sorry." What? Words were spilling out of Rodney's mouth, "I really am. You're smart. Not as smart as me, of course, but still, impressive scores in Prime, Not-Prime, great piloting skills. Nice touch with the Ancient technology," the closest to an apology most people got from McKay.

That smile was back, creeping up one side of his mouth. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Well, uh... good. And... here we go." He felt the ridiculous urge to mimick Rodney's actions, at least the nose plugging and breath-holding (definitely not the eye closing. Why the hell was he doing that?), but to John, there was no change in pressure. No shift in temperature, and the water around his legs was... probably the same temperature as the lab he was sitting in on a cool, dim level of Atlantis where scientists may or may not have been poking and proding his unconscious body. "And the leaking... has been slowed. Well done, Colonel!"

"Well thank you, Rodney." No really, thank you. For being alive after this.

"Come'ere!" The next thing John knew, he was still half-naked and going commando, and wrapped up in a fierce hug from Rodney that was far, far too good, too warm and too cold, too solid for a weird hologram-time-machine device; too nice for his own comfort. He didn't want to let go. He had to let go.

"You uh, you know I'm not really here, right?" Which wasn't exactly something a hallucination was supposed to say, but he was supposed to be Rodney's hallucination, so the rules were probably flexible.

"Oh."

The look on Rodney's face was so sharp, stabbing at John, that he had to fix it any way he could. "Look, if-- when I get you out of here, I promise you can have all the hugs you want. For real." He was half-surprised to find he really meant it. 

"That doesn't really mean anything. You're my subconscious. We've had this discussion." Except for the bit where John had been lying to him.

"Best of both worlds, Rodney. Surely a genius can hallucinate a me that acts within the realm of probability."

"I am not coming out to a figment of my imagination!" Whoa! Whoa! Really?

"Who said anything about coming out? Though if you were thinking about it, I'm probably a good place to start." Since when? Since now, his brain answered back, and yeah, maybe a visit to Heightmeyer was in order in the near future. 

"You did, with your naked and your warm and your being all---all--!" Rodney could feel him; that was important information to be stored away for reference in the very-near future of this Puddle Jumper. 

"Attractive?"

"I'd say mind-numblingly, but my brain was in that state before you decided to drop in!"

John held back another smile; one of too many. Rodney was sharp and soft and warm and cold and all sorts of good.

"Look, you should know by now that you can tell me--" You're not here, you're not real, you're a hallucination, "the real me-- anything. Anything at all. But right now you've gotta stay warm and alive so I can come rescue you."

Rodney sank back onto the bench, just covered in maybe an inch of water. One inch too many. "Even in my head you've got some sort of saviour complex."

 

 

The trouble with Rodney was that he never sat still for very long. He jumped from project to project until he found one that held his interest-- whether because it would save his life or because it was just inherently interesting -- and then he worked steadily until he passed out from hunger or exhaustion or both.

"You're not still trying to control the 'Jumper from that little thing, are you?"

"Would you shut up? I know you think you have all the answers but, surprise! Number one genius in two galaxies working here!"

"With a serious head injury." He needed some way to distract Rodney, something to keep him busy, his mind occupied with anything but finishing his task.

"Yes," Rodney said sharply, "with a serious head injury. If I wasn't concussed, maybe I would have imagined you a little more physically available instead of just half-naked."

Testing, 1, 2, 3, John thought, and ducked under the water thinking naked as hard as he could. He barely felt the transition. He felt in excruciating if somewhat fuzzy detail-- the device, the time difference, his brain travelling height and depth and water-- his own hand pressed and creeping up Rodney's warm-cold side, his own chest and leg pressed to Rodney's; bare skin still stuck at room temperature against the cold, wet fabric of Rodney's uniform. Rodney's voice shaking through his skin.

"I-- I'm almost done here, what are you doing?"

"Being physically available." Following through on quite possibly the best idea he'd ever had. 

"Oh my god, your pants are gone."

"Yep." John and Ancient devices. They went together like macaroni and cheese. 

"You're not real. You're not really here." Rodney's voice got both higher and lower when he was upset. It was a strange combination that tugged at John's brain and made him want to figure it out; hit his heart by telling him the means to the end was anything but worth it. 

"Doesn't mean I'm not available." So available, McKay would be freaked out when John got back from this.

"Oh, oh god." John pressed closer, turned Rodney to face him, "You're trying to distract me again. Slow me down. You don't want me to do this," leaned in and finally kissed Rodney, smooth and slow and soft and-- it wasn't nearly real enough, not with the fuzz of time-space-distance between them, the machine filtering him, the fact that he wasn't real. John bit down on that soft lip beneath his, smoothed his tongue across after it in silent apology. Later, when I'm real, when you're real, when we're both--

"You're not real. Even my own hallucination of you only resorts to this for reasons wholly unrelated to unresolved sexual tension."

"I'm pretty sure I was just trying to resolve that." It hurt and it stung; it was good. Another kiss in this unreality would be more painful than anything else. Rodney's assessment hurt, needed fixing. Later, later, later-- Was that going to be his mantra until the end of this?

"No. No, you were trying to delay me so that I wouldn't have enough power left to get this to work."

It took hardly any thought at all to distance and re-clothe himself, to stand cold and calm and impatient an arm's length away from shivering, concussed, hypothermic Rodney. "You've banged your head, you're not thinking straight. You're going to make a mistake, McKay. Just wait it out. Wait for me to get here."

"No, I should have been ignoring you from the beginning. You're counter-productive."

"We're on our way." You're not supposed to know Zelenka is with you. "I'm on my way. I'm going to get you out of here."

"La-lala-la-la~" So hypothermic, his la's blended together with the jumbling shiver of his voice. John wanted desperately to get him out of there. Stop, stop! 

"Rodney, that's an order!"

"From an imaginary Colonel!"

"Give me a chance!"

"Too late. It's ready, no time to argue." Was he cracking? His eyes were wild, his hands jolting back and forth across the display.

"This is a mistake."

"Letting my brain get away with this when I could have been imagining Sam Carter was a mistake. I trust you'll be--" definitely cracking "--gone when I reach the surface?" No, I'll be right there beside you, and then here--there--waiting.

Except that for a week or two, he wouldn't be. Not this John Sheppard, anyway, only the John Sheppard he had been when rescuing Rodney, not knowing any of the things that had happened in this small space. 

He was so busy being angry and disappointed with himself that he missed the chance to stop Rodney from finalizing his plan. Lights, the hum of the 'Jumper, and then darkness and silence closed in again.

"Oh."

 

After that, the water seemed to flow in even faster. They were probably losing that positive pressure environment, systems slowing to sluggish, halting threats with the lack of power. 

The sea monster circled outside, keening. John shivered, knowing exactly what it looked like, exactly how incredibly massive it had been. The two 'Jumpers together would have been barely a small piece of one fin; a fraction of the tip.

"What? What do you want from me? Just, j-just-- go away!" John pushed himself over to Rodney, his guts wanting irrationally to act like this was any situation in the field--Stick close, stay low -- when he wasn't even fully tangible. Only half-tangible, really. "I think he's just...just waiting to eat me.

"I treated him pretty bad."

"Nessie?" Well, he had been yelling at him quite a bit.

"No, Griffin. I changed the subject. You of all people should be able to keep up."

"Oh. Right." Oops?

"He knew we were both gonna die if he didn't do anything, so...he... I don't know why I didn't think of it first. ...Maybe I did." There was nothing really, that John could say to that. I'm sorry? I'll be here soon? Useless. How much higher could the water get? "He was a brave man," Rodney added. "And I... It just doesn't seem right, you know? It's been a bad day."

"We're gonna get out of this. Trust me." John would save Rodney, and when he was done, Rodney would get John unhooked from that machine and everything would be okay again. What if I can't get unhooked? What if I'm stuck down here forever? How much real time has passed? His whole body flashed back uncomfortably to the time-dilation field, to not knowing that what had been months to him had been hours to everyone else. What if, in here, minutes passed, and outside days, months....years?

"I don't think I'd even believe that if you were naked again." Rodney closed his eyes, then opened them again and John felt some of the tension ease away. "Huh. Oh well." Sunk lower, eyes shuttering against the cold and the wet. He was giving in.

"McKay, snap out of it."

"My plan was stupid. What the hell was I thinking?" Rodney blinked himself back to consciousness and, hopefully, a little clarity. "So much for the best of both worlds." Rodney's breath was coming faster. "You were right. Should have listened to you. I've always admired you, wanted to be like you. Wanted you."

"I know," now. I admire you. I want to be like you. Want you.

"No, not--not really, you don't. The you that's me knows, but the other you-- he'll never know. I never told him." You told me, you told me, you told me, John bit back the words that wanted to spill out of his mouth and fill the space between them. There will be plenty of time, he had to believe, when they got out of this. 

Low, quiet, he heard his own voice. "Rodney?"

Rodney jolted upright at the same time that John did. "Sheppard!" It was strange to hear his own voice through someone else's radio, but he remembered the conversation, remembered---

"All you have to do is open your door and walk to my 'Jumper." John grinned at Rodney, widely. Suddenly irrationally, rationally happy. 

"I told you I'd come for you." 

Rodney grinned right back at him, beaming through the hurt and the sick and the cold, "You and your damn arrogance." Which had been confusing at the time, but made his heart pound a little just now.

"What?" Real Sheppard asked over the radio.

"Nothing! Nothing. Just uh.. hold on." Rodney paused for a long moment. "John!" It was hard for John not to respond, and then not to grin when he remembered what Rodney was about to say. "What are you wearing?"

What are you wearing? he had asked Rodney afterwards, several times in several bad situations. He regretted it now, and at the same time, not at all. 

"What? Rodney, just open the damn door!"

"Humour me! What are you wearing?" It makes perfect sense, now. Real Sheppard wears Real Clothes and acts like a complete Fake. Imaginary Sheppard gets imagined in Fake Clothes and acts more Real than he ever has in real life.

"My uniform," because that's what real Fakes wear, "what do you think, I came from the shower or something? Hurry up and open the door!"

 

John leaned up against the hatch while he watched himself and Zelenka carry Rodney into the other 'Jumper. He felt empty and dead and fake and real and happy and sad all at once; wondered how he would get back, how Rodney would deal with the aftermath even though he had already seen it happen. 

When Rodney stood weak and fragile and crossed to the hatch, John's heart lurched, painfully, and he felt the Goodbye less than the Hello, and the Hello less than the I'll Miss You, because he knew now what was Real and what was Fake, but he didn't know if he'd ever get a chance to be real for Rodney again.

He watched the shield retract, the water flood in and over him as the other ship lifted away, and then, when he felt sure at last that he was not real at all but some terrible, cruel imagining, the world melted away into darkness and warmth and cool sheets and the dripdripdrip of an IV.


	3. The Sum of

Rodney wasn't a romantic person by nature. Not because of any dislike of the concept, or inability to follow through on centuries-old definitions of cheesy, but because of his focus. When Rodney was thinking --which was, obviously, most of the time-- he didn't see things. Didn't hear things, didn't hear himself. Rodney could read reports and skim data and answer questions without even realizing someone was asking him anything, without realizing he was speaking aloud. If those questions were brought up later, he wouldn't remember the conversation. Wouldn't remember answering.

So when it came to Romance, Rodney often just... didn't notice it. If someone paid him extra attention, it was usually when he was manic with lack of sleep and an excess of enthusiasm, up to his elbows in a project and grinning like mad. The precise worst moment to express an interest in him. 

Dr. Brown had been making eyes at him for two weeks before she managed to catch him away from the lab and actually get his attention.

Outside of the chair, Rodney had barely known Sheppard existed until some time after they were already in another galaxy.

Since then, Sheppard's existence had been a constantly thrumming line of something in the back of his brain.

 

 

"You," Rodney said, his face shifting from worried to gleeful as John's eyes blinked open, "fainted."

"Nice to see you, too, Rodney," John croaked, then rubbed his throat a little. "How long have I been out?"

"Long enough," and Rodney waved Carson over with furious hand-motions and simultaneously waved off John's question. He waited, at least, for Carson to give John a glass of water. "So, what does it do? What is it??"

"What's what?" 

"The device! Radek swears you disappeared for a few seconds, and I know that didn't happen when I used it--" He paused to mutter something uncomplimentary about lab staff--"So? What is it?" He was fairly vibrating in place, actually rocking a little, a very little, back and forth between the balls and heels of his feet. 

John studied Rodney's face for a moment. As he had for the last few weeks, he seemed fine; normal. No obvious trace to indicate anything unusual had happened aside from his almost drowning. No hint of his aversion to John from earlier that morning. 

"It's exactly what you think it is."

 

 

One of the first things Rodney had thought, upon closing his eyes and seeing Colonel Sheppard eating in the mess was man, we could have used this back when I was--

 

On his first guess, back in the sinking 'Jumper, lost somewhere and getting more lost by the second, Rodney had called the machine a Mind-control distance-avatar-hollogram program. An unwieldy mouthful, but a surprisingly accurate one.

"So, what does the machine do, exactly?" Elizabeth leaned forward in her seat, arms pressed down against the table in front of her.

"Exactly what I said it did before Colonel Sheppard--" Rodney paused, went a little pink and then continued, "---disabused me of the notion. It projects an avatar of yourself over distance and, apparently, time, to somewhere else. The hollogram element is the only one I'd change. The device actually allows for a certain level of physical interaction, though obviously, since he wasn't really there, the Colonel didn't feel the effects of the environment."

"But it allows you to interact with people?"

Sheppard cut him off. "--To a limited extent. It doesn't feel like reality, but it's close enough."

"And what do we know about the range of this device? How many people can the... avatar interact with? How many people saw Rodney in the cafeteria today?" This was one of the things Rodney genuinely liked and admired about Elizabeth, one of the many things that made her the best leader for the expedition. She thought on her feet, asked good questions.

"Well we haven't tested the actual range, but at least as far as from the lab to the location of the Puddle Jumper as it was sinking," Rodney rushed over the last few words.

"And back in time. Like the DeLorean."

There was another awkward pause. Clearly everyone in the room knew that John and Rodney were fighting over something -- sort of -- but just as clearly, they had no idea what.

"As for the number of people... I have someone looking into that," Zelenka added. 

"And the Avatar part?"

John flushed a little this time. "It doesn't make an image of you as you are. It uh... puts you in an outfit. Or at least, it did for me." Don't know why, he muttered under his breath. Rodney almost snorted that it was a manifestation of the love all Ancient technology had for him, but saw the next three moves play out in his head and cut himself off at the pass.

"How was Rodney dressed when he appeared in the cafeteria?"

John blinked, looked at Rodney for a second and then raised his eyebrows. "He was wearing blue." He paused. "Uh... a different blue. I think." It wasn't like he paid attention to clothes except to see that his marines were in proper uniform. Sometimes.

"What, really?" That made sense, sort of. John had been dressed differently. And, now that he thought about it-- "Oh, right. You changed your appearance at will."

"How?" Zelenka asked, he and Elizabeth leaning further forward. If they weren't careful, they were going to topple their tables. 

"Uh..." From half-dressed to naked, might be the next words on Rodney's lips.

"You just have to think about it really hard," Sheppard stepped in, pointedly not looking at his friend. He wasn't sure how to act, exactly, anyway.

"It might be something more easily controlled with the natural ATA gene. Or it could be just the Colonel's natural affinity."

This was going to take awhile. 

 

 

John had one day been trapped in a time-dilation field. While six months of his life ran their paces on the inside, only part of a day passed on the outside. Understandably it took him a little while to adjust to the idea that he had left at breakfast and was back in time for dinner the same day, month, year.

This was not unlike that particular time. While he knew the date, remembered eating breakfast, doing rounds, and touching the device, part of him was convinced that he was still located sometime several weeks earlier. He found himself wondering how Rodney's head-wound was, how well he was recovering. He had made it half-way to the infirmary three times before turning himself around. 

When he finally did run into Rodney, it was entirely by accident and no where near Beckett or the Med Labs. It was in a completely boring hallway that John had to pass through on his shift of rounds, and he had no idea where Rodney might have planned to get to or from with it. He also didn't have time to embarrass himself by asking how Rodney's concussion was, because almost immediately, they were yelling at each other.

"I just want you to tell me how you got it to go back that far!"

"I don't know," John yelled back, "It just did it!"

"Just tell me! I don't have time for you to be selfish and lie and pretend to be a moron!"

"I'm not! What the hell is your problem, McKay?!"

"GRIFFIN! He's dead and it's my fault and it's your fault because you're too much of an asshole to--" Rodney stopped sharply, breathing heavily and looking like he might throw up. And then he turned tail and ran.

As if John wouldn't have gone back to save Ford if he'd known how. 

 

 

One of the worst things Rodney had to deal with immediately post-'Jumper was his sanity. On the one hand, he knew that the John in the 'Jumper wasn't real. Was imaginary, a figment; a side-effect of his combined trauma, and a common one at that. On the other hand, large chunks of him were convinced that he was real and that they had left him to die. Seeing the doors close and the water flood in as the shield retracted, he'd felt like he was responsible for the death of Sheppard, nevermind that another Sheppard was right there in the same space as him, piloting the second 'Jumper. 

The only thing that stopped him from shouting, "We have to go back! He's drowning! He's drowning, how can you leave him there?!" was that neither Radek nor Sheppard had even glanced at John. 

Rodney knew he was brilliant and noticed things that other people didn't, but a fully-fledged second Sheppard in a confined space was stretching things. So he bit his tongue and he hurt inside, and he pretended he hadn't watched his best friend die. And even if John hadn't really died, Griffin was gone, and no one had asked any questions about him. None.

Except that today it felt like John was back and sharing space with Sheppard; one person again and no longer dead in in the water or maybe eaten by a giant sea monster. And it was weird. He wanted to yell at Sheppard, he wanted Griffin to appear in the science labs, unconscious but healthy. He wanted to talk to John, but Sheppard and John were like two different people and he couldn't tell them apart.

Ancient devices sucked.

 

And it wasn't like, bam, Atlantis, and hey, isn't that Major Sheppard awfully pretty? It had been more like bam, Atlantis, and hey, wow, I think we're friends and I think we're all going to die. It really hadn't made sense for a long time. Sheppard was fun and snarky and secretly a giant nerd (though not always up to date on the finer details of a particular topic), and for some reason he seemed to like Rodney. 

Weirder was that for some reason, Rodney seemed to like Sheppard, who was supposed to be the kind of person Rodney didn't get along with. Except that they did. 

 

 

Rodney perfected the art of not making eye contact in Toronto. The people of what is probably the most famous city in Canada are remarkably polite. They hold doors open for others at buildings and apologize when someone bumps into them. 

But on the subway, or the streetcar, or the bus, Torontoians had long-ago perfected that urban, international art. The first step was usually to have a distraction-- a book, a walkman, more recently, an mp3 player. 

A good Toronto citizen can pretend to be enamoured of an add for erectile disfunction in the most crowded car at rush-hour if it means not making eye contact with anyone else, even if anyone else includes at least three people pressed up and sweating against them in the broiling early August heat. 

If there are no ads for erectile disfunction, no newspapers conveniently left folded neatly on the seat nearby and the batteries are dead in their mp3 player, a person from Toronto will stare at their hands for the entire thirty-six minutes it takes them to get from High Park to Museum station, including the transfer at St. George. And they will stare at their hands with complete conviction so that other people might start to wonder and then stare at their own hands, hoping for something fascinating.

In Atlantis, there are no subways, no streetcars and no busses. There are crowded hallways, but the doors open and close on their own, so no one has to hold them open for anyone else, and even then, Canadians make up only a small chunk of the expedition. In Atlantis, there are no ads for erectile disfunction unless you happen to bring the topic up with Carson, in which case they are several times more awkward and embarrassing than when someone's four-year-old asks what erectile means, loudly, in a crowded subway car.

There is, however, a large quantity of things with which to occupy yourself for the two seconds of shared space in a transporter, or while walking down a crowded hallway, or while eating in the mess. Read-outs, field reports, schematics, and, on occasion, even an mp3 player. 

Rodney refuses to make eye contact with John Sheppard, and he's quite good at it.

 

After two days of avoiding each other, John and Rodney wound up sitting at the same table, eating the same food, and somehow someone had glanced up and so had someone else and after that it was mostly okay. Rodney could steal food from Ronon again, who would steal back, and Sheppard and Teyla could try to keep the peace by slipping food from their own plates across the table to even the scores. 

 

 

John's next biggest problem, right after not asking Rodney how his concussion was and then a really stupid fight was that he had died. Right before waking up there had been a dark, sunken 'jumper filling with water, a giant sea monster circling outside and Rodney had stepped outside and left with the stupid version of John.

And he had died. 

 

 

The only time Rodney ever called the Colonel John had been when he'd been testing to see whether or not the Sheppard on the other side of the rear-doors was real in an attempt not to effectively commit suicide. On both ends of the hallucination, John had made a surprised face and then gone with it. On one side of the doors, knocking, he'd figured, hey, the guy's been down here for hours, sick and injured and probably thinking he was going to die. On the other side, half-naked and watching as Rodney dove under the water to find the manual release, he'd wondered why Rodney couldn't bring himself to call his own supposed hallucination-- a hallucination that had tried to seduce him as a distraction --by the same name.

For a moment, back in Atlantis and on his own two feet again, he'd replayed the sound. And then he got back to work.

 

 

Kissing was awkward for the same reasons that working in teams within a science department was awkward. Every time you tried to do something cool, someone else stepped in and interfered. When he was young and just getting into the swing of the whole mouth-on-mouth idea, Rodney had been atypically frustrated with the process where other people his age had been rolling with the punches.

He would be excellent at it, he thought, if someone would just hold still and not do anything.

 

 

John Sheppard was very good at something not unlike holding still. It was unrelated to lab work or kissing, sure, but he was good at it. Holding still usually meant waiting someone out, listening to their orders and plans and decisions and then, when the holding still was done, running off and doing whatever he wanted instead. It usually worked out better in the end. 

When he had been young, other people had been getting into the swing of the whole mouth-on-mouth thing, but John had been distracted by planes and running and surfing and anything that went fast. Until someone had grabbed him, held him still, and demonstrated why it might be a good idea to check out something a little slower. John had held still for all of a minute.

And then he had done what he wanted, instead.

 

 

John wasn't great at social stuff. He tended to either avoid a problem all together or just try to hit it as hard and as directly as he could, but this didn't look like the kind of problem he could push through with brute force. So instead, he fell back on the one thing he'd seen work for other guys having a fight with... well, with a friend, he supposed. Though it was all getting kind of fuzzy and hard to define.

Sports.

"Can you please, please," Rodney whined, "shut up about football for ten minutes?"

"Jeez, McKay, I know you like hockey and all, but you should give it a chance! Football's great! It's cool!" 

Rodney pinned him with a withering glare. "Yes, I do enjoy hockey, but point of fact, I actually prefer lacrosse, not that you'd know anything about such an obviously superior game. A game which, might I add, requires speed, skill, strength and intelligence in equal measures, where much of your football seems to rely simply on tackling the other guy before he gets into your territory."

"Lacrosse?" Really?

"It is Canada's national sport, despite international misconceptions to the contrary."

Lacrosse. Who would've thought? Didn't that have guys in shorts running around with little nets on sticks? 

 

 

Lacrosse, he figured out later, was kind of like the ultimate combination of every other sport ever, except that it kind of came first. They didn't have much footage though, because apparently the people who liked lacrosse best were, surprisingly, mostly scientists who didn't have a lot of time for watching sports or who, if they did, spend that time back in the labs. For fun. 

John kind of got it, but he kind of didn't. What he did get was a slight widening of his eyes as he watched his first game, followed by,

"Cool."

 

After that, it's easier. Not easy, but easier. Rodney will puff himself up and preen about the numbers for this planet or that problem and how his genius is the only thing that could be applied to the situation with any success. Across the briefing room, or next to him, or leaning side by side in the control room, John will make dry, sly comments half-undermining Rodney and half baiting him, making him go further. Then they'll hop over to the planet and Rodney will whine and complain and then glee, and John will snark and roll his eyes and continue to bait him. Sometimes John will show off a little, but usually right after that they're running for their lives or planning their escape. When they get back or they have to sit around working out a solution, John will work nerdy references to 1960's Batman, Dungeons and Dragons, and Hitchhiker's Guide into the conversation.

Just for fun. Not seriously because it makes Rodney grin and pause and get completely de-railed from his work so he can debate Batgirl or dice or improbability drives with John. And absolutely not for the shit-eating grin that gets pasted across his face that makes his eyes kind of squinty.

No, really. It's just for fun. He swears.

 

 

Immediately after the crash, Rodney had to see Heightmeyer and talk about trust issues ("It's not a matter of trust, it's a matter of ability! I am the most capable person in this city!"), his fear of drowning ("Look, it's a bad way to die. No one likes opening their eyes underwater. Even less people like trying to breathe water."), why Sheppard would be his hallucination ("Head wound! Head wound! What part of concussed and hypothermic and in shock didn't you understand?!").

Shortly after his experience with the device, John had to see Heightmeyer and talk about trust issues ("I didn't lie to him, I just... misled him a little. For his own good!"), his fear of drowning ("I died, I think I'm allowed to freak out a little, thanks.") and why he would have such easy control over his appearance (He shrugged a little, smiled charmingly, and Heightmeyer made that face that said she was writing something down as soon as he left the room.).

Elizabeth read Kate's notes on both of them and then wrote an executive summary:

Just a little more screwy than usual. Fit for missions.

Followed by her signature, and those of Drs Carson Beckett and Kate Heightmeyer.


End file.
